Amnesia
by Nobody'sHope
Summary: Sherlock is bored. A woman, who has no idea who she is, comes to him for help. Sherlock is no longer bored. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, this is my first published fanfic, so please be nice. I know that I've taken some creative license with Mr Holmes, but if you don't like it don't read it. Not in any particular time frame, just a bit of fun. R and R please. Sherlock Holmes and Co. do not belong to me no matter how much I'd like them to.  
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Sherlock Holmes was bored. He hadn't had a decent case in months; or was it only weeks as John had insisted this morning? In any case it'd been too long and he was bored.

"I'm going to take the next case that walks through that door, no matter how tedious." He announced.

"No you won't." John said from the table where he was typing away at his infernal blog. "You say you will, but it'll be something small and silly like someone has lost their dog and you will tell them it was run over or ran away and make them cry."

Sherlock paused from his violin playing.

"Yes, you're quite right but more likely than not I will also be right. I don't produce the fragile mental state they're in and it's not my fault if they don't want to hear the truth."

John sighed."You are a mean man, Sherlock."

Sherlock opened his mouth for a smart ass reply, but was interrupted by some one leaning on the door bell.

"Ha! It's somebody new!" He exclaimed as he carefully put his violin down on its stand.

John raised an eyebrow. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Not right now, my dear John, we have company!"

Sherlock threw himself into his over-sized green felt armchair with boyish glee on his face.

He heard Mrs Hudson and their guest coming up the stairs. From the footsteps he could tell that it was a woman of a slighter than average build, that she had bruised ribs and no shoes on. He also heard the footsteps of a dog that was medium large, between the sizes of a Labrador and a Wolfhound. The dog wasn't on a lead and wasn't used to walking up stairs.

_This is going to be a good one._ He thought to himself.

Mrs Hudson knocked at the door and Sherlock quickly composed his face into an expression of disinterest. John noticed and rolled his eyes as he got up to open the door.

Standing in the door way was the most beautiful creature either man had ever seen.

Her blond, waist length hair was pulled back into a messy braid. Her skin was porcelain and her perfect cheekbone was marred by a blue black bruise coming up. Her lips were soft looking and a little too red where she had a fat lip.

The woman had noticed him searching her face intently and brought her hand up to cover her injuries. In doing so, she brought attention to the broken and bruised skin across her delicate knuckles. She was wearing a police issue tracksuit that hung off her under-fed body.

Sherlock looked away. He'd seen all he needed to.

"So you were attacked. From the state of your hair and the bags under your eyes I would say you were drunk and your attacker was not. You lost the fight, which is evident by your bruised ribs and your embarrassment of your injuries. If you had won you would by proud of them, it's basic human nature. You fought back, but you weren't strong enough to fight them off even with the adrenalin that would have sobered you up considerably, indicating that the attacker was male and much larger than you. I would expect there was some sexual assault as you stepped back when John answered the door, and you are obviously not wearing your own clothes."

He paused for thought and a much needed breath. There was a stunned silence. Mrs Hudson threw a very disapproving look in his direction and patted the woman on the shoulder.

"He's always like this, dear. Don't take any notice, he means well."

Sherlock ignored this obvious white lie and asked, "Where is your dog?"

As if invited, the dog in question trotted through the door, goofy expression on its face wagging its tail slowly as it appeared to survey the situation. Not finding any menace in the man lounging in the chair, it growled quietly at John and lay down at the woman's feet. He, Sherlock noted, looked up at his mistress' distressed face with a worried expression on his face then licked her hand.

Sherlock had never seen a dog with such human expressions before.

"Mr. Holmes," the woman said quietly, "I have no idea if what you say is true. Which is why I'm here. I need you to find out who I am."

He knew it. He had told himself this would be a good one. He listened carefully to the woman's short, succinct story with appreciation. She told him how she had woken in an alley behind the pub just down the road completely naked, and how the dog she named Munchkin had been standing over her growling at the police officer that had been trying to cover her up, not really knowing where to put his eyes. She had pushed Munchkin off her and taken the blanket from the blushing policeman. They had both gone to the police station, where she had been given some clothes and had made her statement. It was about then when she realized that she didn't know who she was. Missing persons had been notified but there was no report of anyone matching her description, so she had been brought to Mr. Holmes.

Nothing indicated she was lying about her amnesia and Sherlock was no longer bored.

"You should stay a couple of days." He said, to the shock of both John and Mrs Hudson.

Munchkin thumped the floor with his tail. He liked this man.

"We will have to call you something until we find out who you are. What would you like to be called?"

The woman thought about it for a moment. Her emerald eyes danced around the room for inspiration.

"How about Madeline? Do you think that would suit me?"

John, who had not yet gotten over her appearance, nodded dumbly.

"It's a lovely name, dear." Mrs Hudson assured her, when Sherlock just shrugged and picked up his violin again.

"Sherlock's just run out of interest for humans today. I'll make up the spare room downstairs for you. Come down and we'll have some tea."

Sherlock had not lost interest. Quite the contrary. He just needed some time to think about Madeline and her Munchkin.


	2. Chapter 2

Madeline woke the next morning in a panic. She was in a bed she didn't recognise; the shadows playing across the walls were foreign and unnerving in the early -very early- morning light coming through the threadbare curtains. Then she remembered the previous night's events with a start.

She remembered Mrs Hudson's tea and biscuits, and crawling into bed after removing her clothes. She remembered falling asleep to the surprisingly quiet and soothing sound of Sherlock's violin.

_Oh... Um what am I supposed to do now? _She thought to herself, _I can't go back to sleep._

The different-ness of it all had startled her semi-awake, just past sleeping but just before coherant thought patterns.

She threw the covers off her legs and squealed at the cold. Shivering a little, Madeline pulled on the pants of the police issue tracksuit and the singlet an officer by the name of Dunevon had given her. Her foot made contact with something warm and fuzzy as she moved to stand up. She remembered Munchkin, her fluffy, fierce, lovely protector, and wondered if he would need to pee this early in the morning. She nudged him awake, mashing her toes into his face fluff and wiggling them. His eyes opened slowly and Madeline thought she saw a glimmer of a laugh in his chocolate brown eyes before he yawned widely and licked her foot.

"Aw, yuck dog!" she exclaimed in a whisper, reaching down to pull on his ears gently. "Do you need to pee?"

He stood and walked to the door as if he completely understood the question, and wagged his tail lazily.

Madeline opened the door for him and dropped into a curtsey. "This way, Your Highness."

She giggled quietly to herself as she ninja'd her way through Mrs Hudson's flat and out the front door, only banging into three things in her barely awake state.

She was just functioning enough to fumble the lock of the outside door open and stumble down the stairs, Munchkin following behind, his tail waving like a banner.

Madeline plonked herself down on the cold concrete of the bottom step.

"Go on, go make a puddle somewhere.: She encouraged Munchkin with a uncoordinated flap of her hands.

He grinned at her, as much as a dog can grin, and snuck a sloppy kiss in under her chin. He then trotted down the road and into an alley.

"Not too far." She called after him, her voice carrying in the air of the time between four and six, when voices always seemed obscenely loud and yelling was unspeakable.

He stuck hia head back around the corner as if to reassure her, 'It's okay mum, I'm just here. Dont worry so much.'

Madeline pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her head on the resulting started to think about her situation.. It was a strange one to say the least, living the floor beneath the even more strange and wonderful man that was going to give her her life back. Mrs Hudson deserved a medal and an enormous paycheck, from what she had told Madeline the evening before, and she was an angel for taking her in like that. She wasn't sure where Sherlock had had thought she would sleep as, according to Mrs Hudson, he either slept on the couch or stayed up all night most nights.

Madeline had listened to tales of severed heads and bags of thumbs in the sink, bullet holes in the walls and the late night abuse of his violin with intense interest in the man she would be spending a decent amount of time with.

Madeline stayed lost in her thoughts, watching the sparse traffic pass the door of 221 Baker St until, almost as if summoned by her thoughts, Sherlock appeared next to her, fully dressed and looking as fresh as a daisy in May.

_It's indecent to look that good this early._ She thought as quietly as she could, remembering Mrs Hudson's insistance that he could read minds. His long legs stretched out halfway across the foot path, begging to tripp some one over.

"Where is the dog?" His voice was a pleasant hum in the morning air. Of course the quiet rule didn't apply to him.

He seemed far calmer than what Mrs Hudson had described as his normal state.

"Good morning to you too." Madeline replied, twisting so she could look into his eyes. And what eyes they were...

"I asked where the dog was. I did not enquire about how you were finding the morning." His tone was soft and distracted. Madeline got the feeling that he wasn't _trying _to be mean.

"He's taken a liking to that alley just down there. I really hope he doesn't roll in something nasty."

Sherlock seemed to be making a calculation in his head, "No, I don't think so. All should be completely decomposed."

"What!" She exclaimed, hopping it wasn't anything human like the stories.

"Relax it's just some rats I was trying out a new poison on."

Madeline visibly relaxed than tensed again.

"The level of toxin is not enough to do any damage to the dog." He explained further.

Back to relaxing. _This woman changes her body language more often than normal. I wonder if it has to do with the dog's well-being? Is this what sentiment does to a person when the thing they care for can't look after itself?_

"The dog has a name." Madeline said flatly, "It's Munchkin."

"That is a ridiculous name and I refuse to use it."

"Fine then, call him whatever you want. He just won't respond to it."

Sherlock scoffed. "I bet it responds to anything said in a pleasant tone."

Madeline smirked. "Did your policeman friend not tell you what happened?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly, "He's not my friend."

"An officer was trying to shut Munchkin outside while I was being interveiwed. He refused to call him Munchkin too. He tried to force him out. It would've been funny if there wasn't so much blood. Your policeman friend got Munchkin to leave first try. All he did different was use his name."

Sherlock cracked a smile. "Anderson? Was the one who got bit named Anderson?"

"Umm, yeah I think so. How did you know?"

"I didn't. I just really hoped it would be."

Madeline opened her mouth to laugh, when a horrible yelp of pain rang out in the quiet street.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was up and at the entrance to the alley staring down the man who had obviously just kicked her dog in the ribs and was about to do it again.

"Don't you fucking dare." She said, her voice colder than ice and dripping with venom. Her face was hard and murderous. Despite her small frame the large man with a buzz cut seemed intimidated for a second. Madeline stepped forward to check on Munchkin, but the attacker decided that it was an opportune moment to pull a knife on her.

Sherlock had followed her and was about to step in when Madeline grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and brought the large man's elbow down on her knee. It snapped with a deafening scream from the man and a truly brutal crack.. She pulled him down, not letting go of the man's wrist, onto his stomach and bent his arm further the wrong way.

Sherlock decided to let this one play out on its own.

The man's eyes rolled back in his head, but Madeline slapped him hard across the face, using his bad arm to pull him up enough to look at her face. She kicked him hard in the ribs once, and Sherlock heard the crack. He hoped it wasn't her bare foot that had made the noise. Madeline rolled the man back onto his back and took the black-handled switchblade that was still clutched in his hand. She lent down and cut across his left cheekbone a deep slash that bled sluggishly.

Sherlock moved to step in, but Madeline shot him a look that said that if got involved, he would end up more involved than he wanted.

She leant down a little further and Sherlock caught her whisper "-ever, ever see you around here again, for _whatever _reason, you will die. If I see you out in the street, you will die. If you so much as _look_ at my dog again, you will die and if you ever, ever hurt another animal," her voice dropped lower and Sherlock had to strain to listen. "_I will hunt you down and kill everyone you have ever met and cared about. I will torture you until you beg for death to come to you and then I will leave you to your life, knowing that it was all your fault that the people you loved were killed in the most painful way I could come up with that day."_

Madeline straightened and tucked the switchblade into her pocket. She brushed her singlet off and put a fake smile on her face.

"I'm glad we could come to this understanding."

The thoroughly beaten man pulled himself up from the ground with he assistance of a trashcan that nearly fell on him. He scrabbled down the wall opposite from Madeline and ran as fast as his cracked rib would let him.

Sherlock smirked. Curiouser and curiouser.


	3. Chapter 3

Many apologies for my multitude of mistakes last time guys, my spell check went on holiday without telling me, but don't worry I've found him and now he's chained up in my basement.

Sherlock watched as Madeline collapsed beside the dog. She was tugging on his ears and cooing quietly, while she ran a careful hand over his ribcage. He hadn't moved since Madeline had appeared, and now he raised his head and looked at her with complete trust in his eyes.

_Well this points to medical student of some kind. _Sherlock mused silently to himself. _But that display of uncensored rage would not fit with that profile. She reacted like a mother would, but with far more skill. Perhaps the dog is a offspring substitute because she- _his mind didn't produce any viable ideas. _I am going to need to spend more time with her. Dull._

Madeline coaxed Munchkin to his feet, having not found anything obviously wrong, she had decided he was probably winded and needed to walk it off.

She approached Sherlock, who stood there looking like tall, pale god with the sun rising at his back, slowly taking care to wait for Munchkin as he followed shakily after.

Madeline herself was feeling a little shaky.

Sherlock was snapped out of his musings by a gentle hand on his arm.

"When do you think John will be up?" Madeline's quiet voice asked.

"Not for another hour at least. Ah yes, you'll be in shock I expect, come up to the flat and I can do what John normally does. Food and liquids and warm I can do." Sherlock said, almost looking pleased.

"Not me." Madeline murmured.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "You most definitely are in shock. If you'd prefer me to wake John, I can do that-"

"Not me," She repeated, "Munchkin. I'm fine. Absolutely fine. Couldn't be better."

Sherlock nodded, understanding something that was about three steps ahead of where Madeline was.

"You don't trust yourself to identify any problems with your dog, even though it's obvious that you have had medical training of some kind."

"Have I?" Madeline asked, bewildered.

"I'm hardly ever wrong," Sherlock stated arrogantly. "But I don't think you're a doctor or nurse. That savage beating you just delivered that man would not suggest you have the understanding nature required for such a job."

Madeline fought the urge to slap him. _Understanding nature indeed!_

Sherlock started to walk away, towards the door of 221. "Come up," He commanded, "I'll wake John and he can look both you and the dog over."

Madeline followed after him, tripping on her feet and Munchkin, who was doing his best to herd her in the right direction.

"Munchkin."

"What?" Sherlock turned as he reached the door.

"His name is Munchkin. Call him that, not 'the dog'. It's insulting."

She made it in the door and inside without any of the offered assistance of Sherlock's arm. However when she saw the flight of stairs she had yet to face, her knees buckled. Sherlock seized this moment of weakness to scoop her up in his arms and took the stairs two at a time.

"This is totally unnecessary!" Madeline protested loudly, trying very hard not to look down. _Turns out I'm afraid of heights. _She laughed inwardly to herself.

"Actually, it is completely necessary. You would have taken far too long and I would have been obligated to walk slowly in case you fell or something. Incredibly dull."

Madeline was dumped unceremoniously on the couch and Munchkin immediately jumped up to take up all her foot room.

"Stay there." Sherlock barked at her as she went to move. "I'll be back in a moment."

and he was, towing a blanket and a half-dressed, half-awake John. Sherlock tossed the blanket over her with a flourish; Madeline noted with some amusement that it was still warm and obviously Sherlock was not one to wake people gently. John noticed the blood on her hands as she valiantly tried to keep them away from the pristine white blanket. His half awake mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

"You've taken her somewhere, haven't you?" he accused Sherlock. "Taken her somewhere and now you've got her hurt, doing something stupid for you."

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Oh ye of little faith, I have done naught to incur your wrath, 'tis not hers but blood of another, a scoundrel, a cur, a beater of dogs-"

Madeline cut him off, something he was not used to.

"Some dick-head kicked Munchkin, so I beat him up a little." She said, sitting up and pushing the blanket off her. She pointed to Munchkin and asked, "Can you have a look at him please? I know you do people normally, but-" she smiled, "You're the only doctor I know right now. Animal or otherwise."

John smiled back, "Of course, but I'd like to take a look at your injuries too, just to make sure you are healing up properly."

Sherlock snorted from the kitchen, where he appeared to be making toast.

"You have work today remember? So you can't take too long _examining her injuries_." The air quotations were implied in his tone, as he waved a piece of toast around.

"Yes Sherlock, I do remember. And what will you be doing today" John looked toward Madeline edgily, as if worried for her safety.

"Well the only case I have at the moment is Madeline's, so I guess I'll be working on that." he turned to face her. "With your cooperation?"

Madeline nodded. She got the feeling that this would be an interesting day.

"Nothing dangerous, okay?" John mumbled under his breath. Madeline still heard him.

"Would you like to come through to the bathroom? More privacy." he added at a regular volume.

"Sure." Madeline agreed. Sherlock was staring at her, and it was getting uncomfortable.

She winced as John prodded at her heavily bruised ribs.

"They're healing up al right, but I think this one," he poked her second to bottom rib, "Is cracked. Be careful with it. No more fights."

"Wasn't my fault," she defended herself "you don't go around kicking people's dogs."

"No, it's not right." he agreed, smearing some kind of cream on the bruise on her cheekbone. "This will help the bruising come out, so it'll heal up faster." He handed her the bottle. "Put some more on this afternoon, I wont be back until late." He went to leave, then turned back. "If Sherlock gets to be too much, just leave. He doesn't really know what's appropriate, ever."

John left her to get dressed. Munchkin had been fine; Madeline was right about him being winded. John said that he would probably be in some pain for the next couple of days because of bruising, and that he should take it easy. Even as he said it, he wondered how she was going to tell a _dog_ to take it easy. Madeline just nodded sagely and pointed to Munchkin then to John's chair. Munchkin stepped off the couch and carefully lifted himself onto the chair. He turned around twice and settled down in a tight bundle.

It had been two hours since John left and Madeline was bored. Sherlock had zoned out ten minutes after John left and Madeline had done the dishes, cleaned the whole kitchen and tidied anything that wasn't supposed to be in the sitting room away. She had made a sandwich, leaving half in front of Sherlock, finished her half then finished his half as well. She went down to see Mrs Hudson to complain and came back with biscuits, freshly baked.

Madeline ate two of the chocolate chip biscuits, pondering her next move. There were three options; one, she could throw a pillow at him, hard and see if that would wake him up; two, she could just go and have a shower, the only problem was that she had no clothes to speak of apart from the ones that were currently on her and covered in blood. The blood was starting to dry and crack on her face and hands and she wanted more than anything to go and scrub herself raw; three, she could sic Munchkin on him. The larger than average dog would pin him down and slobber all over his blank face.

Madeline thought seriously about this last option. It would be hilarious, but Madeline got the idea that Sherlock didn't like it when people mucked up his thinking time.

She decided that the second option was the best idea. She ninja'd her way into someone's bedroom to find something to put on after her shower, and upon opening the closet and not finding any Granddad jerseys concluded that it was Sherlock's room. She pulled a shirt from the closet and held it up to herself. Because she was so short and Sherlock was so tall the shirt came down to an inch above her knees.

_I can work with this._ She thought to herself. Madeline put the purple shirt down on the bed and cast around the room for a belt. She found one curled up in the corner that'd been thrown there in a tantrum. Madeline touched the chip in the paint where the solid silver buckle had hit.

Next she went in search of a towel. A clean one. All of the towels in Sherlock's room had either suspicious stains or smelled a bit off. Madeline remembered the stories of body parts and messy experiments and went into Johns room instead. It was much, much cleaner than Sherlock's and to Madeline's delight there were two clean towels folded up on the set of drawers.

Pleased, Madeline went back into the sitting room and said to a still unmoving Sherlock, "I'm going to have a shower. I also borrowed some of your clothes, but you don't mind. I'll be back up in an hour. I'm going to leave Munchkin here, he might get a bit upset after a while but just tell him I'll be back soon and he should be fine."

Sherlock didn't give any indication that he'd heard. Madeline shrugged. She had told him, it wasn't her fault he wasn't listening.

She took her time in the shower, washing her hair twice and scrubbing her skin pink as a lobster. The water was so hot it half cooked her, and when she got out forty-eight minutes later she felt awesome. All clean and sparkly and dressed in Sherlock's shirt she bounded up the stairs.

When she opened the door she was surprised to see another man in the flat, he looked a little like Sherlock so she assumed he was a brother and he was patting her dog absent-mindedly. Madeline wondered if she could leave before he noticed her, but Munchkin gave her away by getting off the couch and trotting over to her. He was very pleased by the Holmes boys it seemed, and he was a good judge of character most of the time. Madeline sighed and dragged herself over to flump down in the only available space, Sherlock's chair.

Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow. Sherlock really didn't like it when anyone other than himself sat on his chair. Sherlock could be heard in another room thumping around, Madeline guessed he was finding something for his brother.

"So, Madeline, how are you finding my little brother's company?" Mr. Holmes the Older asked, his tone arrogant and irritating.

"Fine." she replied.

"Settling in well then?"

"I'm not staying long."

He snorted. "Do you think John thought he would be staying long? Or Mrs Hudson thought she would end up being the house keeper for a socio path and a war veteran."

Madeline glared. "She's not their house keeper."

"Quite right, Madeline. She's not." Sherlock interjected. He was standing with a large box in his arms. It hadn't been opened and she could see the return address marked Mycroft Holmes, the rest blank.

"What's that?" Madeline asked, pointing.

"I don't know, I haven't opened it yet." Sherlock replied with his 'you idiot' face.

Mycroft smiled. "Clothes," he said, "For Madeline."

Madeline looked at the box closer. "But it was sent three days ago. I only got here yesterday."


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft left as Sherlock's face turned an interesting shade of purple.

"I hope you find the clothes to your liking." he said, grabbing his umbrella from where it was propped up on a stack of books. "I think you will." he added with a dubious look at her current attire. "You sir, I will see again soon." he said almost fondly to Munchkin, who was still spread out on the couch, like the lazy mutt he was. Sherlock stayed where he was and Madeline followed his example by not standing to see him out. Instead she found a star shaped chip out of the paint on the door and stared at it until she heard his steps retreat down the stairs and his car take off.

She turned back to Sherlock. He still hadn't moved, an expression as close to shock as he could produce on his face, the box still clutched tightly to his chest.

Madeline pushed everything off the small coffee table, hearing the tinkling of breaking glass and not caring much. Sherlock didn't move. She pried the box from his fingers. Sherlock didn't move. She cut the tape with the knife she was attacked with earlier. He just stood their completely blank and unmoving as Madeline investigated the contents of the box. The first handful was embarrassingly lacy and purple. Madeline peeked at Sherlock from under her lashes to see if he'd seen and judged that he hadn't shoved the offending articles to the very bottom of the box. There was more lace in midnight blue and black that hurriedly followed. The rest was fairly standard, a couple of pairs of skinny jeans in black and dark blue denim and several button up shirts in the same hues as the lace. And socks! There were thirteen pairs of socks rolled up into balls. They were not socks fitting of a 'grown up', printed with with skulls, hearts and stars; black striped with blue, red, pink, purple, white and green.. Madeline liked her socks. In the bottom of the box, now mixed with her ridiculous underwear there was a pair of heavy leather boots. They were the very essence of grunge, studs adorned the shiny leather and the laces were mismatched metallic silver and gold.

Madeline felt a little shiver of delight and recognition at the sight of polished leather and metal. She pulled on a pair of thigh-high purple and black striped socks and undid the zips that ran down the side of the boots and tugged them on. They fit better than she could have ever imagined.

_A hug for my feet. _She thought, extremely pleased. _Wait is that... foot grooves?_ Madeline wiggled her feet and could feel indents in the soles that fit her feet perfectly. _I wonder her if these **are** my shoes? _She pondered, pushing her fingers together under her chin in a very Sherlockian way.

_How on earth would Mycroft have my shoes though?_

She sank deep into thought.

oOoOo

John came home four hours later to find Madeline in Sherlock's shirt, thigh-high stripy socks and some shoes that screamed punk, and Sherlock in his usual attire, their posture mirrored. Feet shoulder width apart perfectly balanced, with their hands in the classic Sherlock pose. They were staring at each other, but not really seeing and their mouths were moving rapidly, mouthing out silent words.

John felt himself develop a headache.

_Didn't I do enough for my country? Now I have to babysit two of **him? **This is not okay..._

"Tea, anyone?" he asked, not really expecting a reply, as he took off his coat and scarf..

Munchkin stretched down off the couch and approached John. John smiled at him and Munchkin smiled back.

"It might be nice, having you around." He said, feeling a bit silly talking to a dog. "At least some one will listen to me."

He looked back over at the pair. Madeline looked like some kind of goddess, with her hair falling down her back like golden waterfall. And somehow she looked better in Sherlock's shirt than he did. Sherlock looked some what more animated than normal, more interested in the case than when John had left this morning. His eyes sparkled with the beginnings of a big case.

John shuddered, and then went about his tea-making, whistling to himself to break up the tension filled silence.

He was just about to sit in his chair and tell Munchkin about his day when Madeline and Sherlock simultaneously jumped into life and exclaimed "Seven!"

They glared at each other for a moment then turned to John, identical expressions of delight on their faces.

John couldn't help himself. He carefully placed his a-little-too-full cup of tea on the suspiciously clear table and burst into hysterical laughter.

If he hadn't, he would of cried.

After his fit subsided a little, he struggled to put on a straight face and found a spot on the wall to look at; their similar faces of mild disgust and confusion couldn't set him off again.

"Seven what?" He asked, falling quickly into his role of sidekick who needs things explained. Sherlock loved to explain his genius.

"Seven theories." Madeline interjected with a brain-melting smile, before Sherlock could show off or convince John to play his deduction game that John always lost.

"About who exactly she is." Sherlock finished with a smirk.

He knew John hated their game.

"Mycroft came over today. He knows who I am." Madeline said, turning to Sherlock. "These are my shoes, they fit perfectly. And these socks are mine too, judging from the wear patterns."

She grinned, "I have excellent taste."

John nodded in agreement, even though he was being thoroughly ignored.

_There was definitely something with those socks. _He thought.

Madeline noticed Sherlock looking at her in an odd way ; John noticed Sherlock looking at Madeline in an odd way; and, after three minutes thirty seven seconds, Sherlock noticed he was staring at Madeline in an odd way. He quickly shifted his gaze to the skull on the mantle.

Madeline had no idea what the look had meant. She wondered if she had imposed by wearing his shirt. It did seem kind of inappropriate now.

John recognized the expression after the first minute. It had been awhile; Sherlock wore this expression in his brief entanglement with The Woman. He could only hope this wouldn't end as badly.

Sherlock was intrigued. This woman had managed to match his stare, hour for hour, made similar if not the same deductions about herself as he had and looked looked so right in his shirt, he wasn't even mad she'd been in his room.

Madeline started to get uncomfortable in the silence, where first Sherlock, then John, then Sherlock inspected her.

"I think I should leave." She said hesitantly. "I'll bring your shirt back tomorrow."

She headed to the door, snapping her fingers for Munchkin to follow.

"No."

She stopped and turned back.

"You forgot your box."

He was right in front of her all of a sudden, thrusting the box into her hands and she was herded out of the room with Munchkin and was left standing on the landing.

"Well," she said to Munchkin, "that could have gone worse."

When she got down to her room, she heard his violin start up, Madeline prepared herself for a night of classical music.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay my sweets, this is your last freebie. I will expect at least one review before my next update. I can wait...

The week passed with three more boxes from Mycroft containing mostly clothes, including a shirt too large for her in the same purple as Sherlock's, and a coat; it was black with a double row of sliver buttons down the front, Madeline found a new pocket in it every time she wore it.

Sherlock thoroughly searched each box before giving them to Madeline, a fact that she protested loudly and at length and at volume and quite often after Sherlock had woken her in the night for his Question Sessions, much to dismay of John, who had recently taken on more hours at the clinic.

The questions he fired at her in the dark, after shaking her awake violently, were repetitive.

"Where are you, right now?"

"Mrs. Hudson's spare room at 221b Baker Street, halfway to the land of Nod."

"What is your name?"

"Dunno, that's what I hired you to find out."

"Who is Munchkin to you?"

"Ha! You said it! I knew you wouldn't be able to not!"

He glared.

"Munchkin is my beautiful, fluffy, dead-to-the-world asleep, guardian."

"And where were you born?"

"Another question I cannot answer, and you are supposed to be finding out."

She was the uncaring recipient of another glare.

"This is not going to be of any help if you aren't going to take it seriously."

Madeline rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.

"I would take it more seriously if I were awake enough to care."

Sherlock pulled her back over and yanked the covers from her face. He had turned the light on and Madeline was sure she would go blind.

"You s_hould _care." He hissed, his face so close she could smell the cigarette smoke on his breathe. He must've sneaked it after John and Madeline had gone to bed. John had a real problem with Sherlock smoking.

"I do, just it's kind of hard at," She squinted at the alarm clock that had come in one of her packages.

"Three twenty seven! In the morning! Ohmigod. You know what? I'm not even surprised any more. I made friends with the head in the fridge, I deal with the mess you leave where ever you go, I've stayed in this house for six and a half days and catered to pretty much your every need, because your usual bitch is away working to pay the rent."

Sherlock had sat back and was regarding Madeline with an amused expression, like she was a child that'd thrown a fit over some sweets.

Madeline threw the covers off, a little more dramatically then necessary and stormed out of the room.

OoOoO

The morning after that row, after Madeline had crawled back into her bed, ignoring Sherlock still sitting at the end of her bed, after she had woken up again to find him gone from the building, after John had left for work, after Sherlock had returned without a word about where he'd been, looking sightly dishevelled, Madeline confronted him about the lack of real food in his flat.

"It's ridiculous. I don't know how John has let it go for this long, he's a doctor and should be seriously worried about malnutrition."

Sherlock ignored her. He always did whenever she talked about food or sleep or personal boundaries.

He stretched out over the couch in his usual thinking pose.

"I'm talking to you, you great big mushroom." She kicked the couch.

Sherlock continued to ignore her, his eyes closed tight.

Madeline clamped her hand over his mouth and pinched his nose, blocking off his airways effectively.

Sherlock did his best to ignore her, but when he started to go red his eyes flew open and he glared.

She hung on a bit longer but when he licked the palm of her hand she let go with a squeal.

"My wallet is in my coat. Go buy whatever you deem real food. I need to think."

Madeline borrowed John's laptop to use Google maps to find the nearest supermarket.

"That's password protected." Sherlock mentioned from the couch.

Madeline snorted. "Hardly."

OoOoO

Madeline made it to the Tesco that was only about a fifteen minute walk away, without getting lost. As she walked the aisles she chucked random things in to the trolley, without any kind of meal plan in mind. Mostly she chose things that even John could make. When she got to the aisle labelled 'baking needs', she found herself putting things she vaguely recognised in the trolley. Madeline decided to just go with it, maybe she knew how to bake, and if she didn't, she was sure Mrs. Hudson would appreciate some more supplies after baking almost every day since Madeline arrived.

Sherlock had mentioned it the day before.

"_You've put on weight. About one point four pounds, I'd say."_

_John threw a book at the back of his head; Sherlock ducked._

"_In a good way." He amended. "You don't look as pointy now."_

She looked at the self checkouts. She noticed that three people were having trouble scanning items and one of those three was yelling abuse, much to amusement of the people in the queue. Madeline decided that she would rather deal with a person.

"Good morning." Chirped the teenager with a ring through her nose.

Madeline just smiled and went through Sherlock's wallet to find a way to pay the girl. There was all sorts of crap it there, from half a newspaper article pertaining to a homicide that was three years old according to the date at the bottom, to a half eaten piece of black licorice, which looked to be about the same age. She found a shiny silver card, the signature on the back not Sherlock's. She swiped it anyway, and signed the receipt with the same signature. She was quite good at it. Madeline decided she would tell Sherlock this when she got home, maybe it would help with his deductions.

"221b Baker street." She said as she got into the cab with her shopping.

The cabbie just nodded and pulled out. Five minutes later they pulled up outside the flat.

"Thank you" She said, and handed him money she had discovered hidden deep in the recesses of Sherlock's wallet, along with a bullet and some more half eaten licorice.

She struggled up the stairs and into Sherlock's flat and dumped the shopping on the kitchen table she had cleared off during a moment of extreme boredom. He had complained the entire time.

Sherlock swooped on the groceries before Madeline had a chance to unpack.

"Did you get any baking soda?" He asked, still rummaging.

Madeline found the bag it was in and handed it to him.

"What do you need it for?" She asked.

"Experiment."

"Don't use it all."

He flapped his hand at her as he measured out four table spoons and tipped the baking soda into a jar of eyeballs then screwed the lid on tight.

"So it turns out I'm good at forging signatures." She said conversationally.

He turned to her. "Explain."

Madeline pulled the shiny card from his wallet.

"Oh that's Mycroft's. I pick-pocket him when he's annoying, which is always. I'm surprised it cleared."

Madeline smirked. She continued to unpack, with Sherlock watching, working around dubious looking jars, bags and test tubes. At one point she had to ask, "This is blood isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Whose?"

"Mine, don't worry, I'm not positive for anything."

Madeline rolled her eyes. There was no point in explaining that most people didn't have blood in their refrigerators.

"I want to do some experiments." Sherlock said, after two minutes seven seconds of silence.

"Go ahead. You've never told me about your intentions before."

Sherlock sighed dramatically.

"No I mean, I wish to experiment on you. I've narrowed down my seven theories to four, and I think I can further eliminate possibilities. I mentioned it to John and he said I had to ask first."

He paused, waiting for her consent. She wasn't going to let him off that easy.

"And?" she asked.

"And what?"

"Are you going to ask?"

"I just did."

"No you said that John told you to ask. You didn't actually ask."

"Fine. Madeline, can I do some experiments on to you so I can further understand who you might be?"

"Please."

"What?" Sherlock looked confused.

"Madeline, can I _please_ do some experiments on you so I can further understand who you might be." Madeline said, smiling innocently, eyes lit up with glee. Sherlock did not say _please_.

"Please." It was almost too quiet for Madeline to hear, but it was a victory nonetheless.

She split the chocolate bar she'd brought and gave him half.

"Okay I'll play. What are you planning?"

"Well, first you can do the baking you were planning on."

So Madeline did. She made chocolate chip biscuits, cinnamon muffins and brownies. She didn't mind Sherlock helping with the brownies, while she cleaned up. She was concentrating on scraping the muffin goo out of the bowl when he slipped a small block of hash into the batter and mixed it in thoroughly.

_Experiment one._ Sherlock thought.

OoOoO

John came home to find Sherlock and Madeline stretched out on the floor. They'd moved the table and piles of junk and were looking at the roof. They were having a very quiet discussion and eating what looked suspiciously like _brownies? _Sherlock was stroking Madeline's head that was rested on his stomach. John was surprised; Sherlock didn't like much human contact. He went into the kitchen to make tea, when he received another big shock. Well not really a shock, but there was a different type of explosion in there today. Instead of the normal, strange smelling and mostly sticky, it was nice-smelling and mostly powdery in nature. John didn't mind the change, in fact John preferred the change; He'd often envied the smells coming from Mrs Hudson's flat.

He went about his tea making, having to search for things like teabags because they'd been put away for some reason, slowly. He didn't really want intrude on the conversation Sherlock and Madeline were having. It was nice for Sherlock to have someone else that he could stand because things were getting serious with Mary and she wanted him to move in sometime soon. John dreaded bringing up the subject before Madeline, now he thought that maybe Sherlock would be okay without him.

_I mean she even does shopping! I forget half the time, and Sherlock seems to eat by osmosis when he's on a case. Maybe Madeline will be better at this than me._

"John, come and join us. It's impolite to pretend we don't exist." Madeline called in a sing-songy tone. "Come and partake in these _wondrous_ brownies Sherlock helped me make."

She hadn't lifted her head.

"Not the brownies John. You can have the biscuits or the muffins. The brownies are Experiment One." Sherlock sat up and Madeline's head fell into his lap, she readjusted so she was more comfortable and Sherlock resumed petting her hair.

John noticed straight away Sherlock's eyes were red and glassy, and recognised the odd smell in the kitchen from his college days.

Weed.

Sherlock had made hash brownies.

And fed them to Madeline.

John groaned in exasperation.

He should have known that when Sherlock said that he would be doing some experiments to see if Madeline would remember something in an altered state of mind, he had this in mind.

No, John had foolishly thought that maybe he would hypnotise her or something.

"Madeline said it was okay, John." Sherlock said, as if that made it all right to drug someone.

John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And did Madeline know that this was what you were planning?" He asked like he was talking to a small child.

Sherlock frowned. "Well no, but-"

Madeline sat up slowly, like she was fighting gravity for every inch, and glared at John. "I said it was okay, okay? An' 'tis okay, okay? So stop bein' all grr and eat some cookies."

John just stared.

Sherlock on the other hand leapt from the ground with all the energy he didn't have before.

"Sherlock? Is everything fine?" John asked, the doctor part of him not wanting any harm to come to anyone involved in this ill-advised _experiment_.

"Cookies!"


	6. Chapter 6

One reveiw and, as promised, here is your next chapter. Two more gets you another chapter by monday

========================================================================================== "Are you ready for Experiment Two?" Sherlock's voice slipped into Madeline's mostly sleeping mind.

"Wha...?" Madeline yawned.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched out in her bed. Sherlock was in the way of her right foot so she pushed him off the bed with it. He landed on the floor with a thud and glared reproachfully.

"It's earlyyyyyyyyy Sherloooooooock." She whined and rolled out of bed. It wasn't early at all, the sun was up and blinding her through the curtains that did nothing to stop the assault on her eyes She had slept naked. After coming down off her buzz the night before, she barely had the energy to remove clothing, let alone find more clothing to put on.

Sherlock looked pointedly out the window until she had dressed.

"It's not a big deal, you know." Madeline said as she pulled a black t-shirt on. It was warm compared to the last few days of heavy clouds and rain, so she was just wearing a short black skirt and an awesome pair of rainbow polka-dot on black knee high socks.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"Looking. The female form is not something I'm ashamed of having. Breasts are useful. Just the day before yesterday I convinced John to get a book for me from the library, just because I showed some cleavage."

She nudged him in the butt with her foot when he went to stand up, causing him to sprawl across the bed.

Munchkin jumped up to join him and lick his face.

"Am I going to need shoes?" she asked after Sherlock fended off Munchkin's kisses, and the dog had settled into the warm spot left in the mattress.

"No. We're staying in again today. Experiment Two is not conducive with human interference."

Madeline groaned and rolled her eyes.

"But it's nice outside today. What if we were to start Experiment Two later? We could go for a walk or something. What's Experiment Two going to entail anyway? John was quite pissed yesterday about Experiment One. And I think you should tell me your deductions during Experiment One. We could do that as we walk."

"Stop."

Madeline fell silent and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

He tipped his head back and his eyes darted around the ceiling tiles.

"We can go for a walk, but we'll have to make a stop, I need to pick something up. Experiment Two is not dissimilar to yesterday's Experiment, but since John threatened to sic Lestrade on me for drugs and I don't want him to mess my things with a drugs bust, we will be trying alcohol instead. As for my deductions, you said 'cookies' not biscuits as a person brought up in England would say, but you have an impeccable British accent. So either you moved here with your parents at a young age from a country where they say 'cookies', or you are just very good at accents. Maybe you trained in linguistics, that would fit with three of my four remaining theories." He stood and brushed the dog hair from his usually perfect attire.

"Come upstairs when you're ready."

And he was gone.

Madeline sighed and grabbed her hairbrush. She had about four and a half minutes before he was back at her door, demanding they leave straight away. If there was one thing she had learned during her extended stay at 221b Baker Street, it was that Sherlock had no patience. At all.

She brushed her hair and pulled her shoes on at the same time and managed to put her coat on before Sherlock opened the door to her room.

"Yes, we can go now. I'm ready." she said, grabbing Munchkin's new lead and clipping it to his collar.

"He's not coming with us." Sherlock said, pointing at Munchkin who wagged his tail and smiled winningly.

Madeline looked at Munchkin and Munchkin looked back at Madeline. They walked out the door and into the early afternoon air without bothering to argue with Sherlock. He would have to deal.

OoOoO

The stop Sherlock had mentioned was at an unlikely looking antiques store. It was one of those stores that didn't see much business, but somehow managed to stay open forever.

"The Emporium of Forgotten Treasures?" Madeline asked, "Sounds like an Indiana Jones film."

Sherlock looked at her, not comprehending the reference.

"Have you been watching that drivel with John?" He asked.

"No, by myself. John is never home and I dislike the quiet when I'm alone. There was a marathon on T.V., so I watched it." She replied.

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched.

"You weren't alone, I was there."

Madeline smiled and said in a placating tone, "Yes, but you weren't _there _there, you were _occupying space _there. Big difference."

They walked into the musty store and Madeline was hit with a wave of smell that could only be decomposing flesh. Munchkin whined quietly, nuzzled into Madeline's coat and sneezed. She gagged violently and pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket of her coat. The handkerchief earned her an amused smirk from Sherlock.

"Don't look at me like that. I borrowed it from John." She said reproachfully, her glare negated by the little blue sail boats on the handkerchief held to her face.

They walked further in to the store and the smell worsened considerably. The source of the smell was an elderly man, who had clearly been there for sometime.

"As I thought." Sherlock mumbled.

The man had died in a very strange way, his hand on the portable phone on the table at the bottom of the stairs that led to, Madeline assumed a flat, and his head cleaved almost in two by the decorative axe that had fallen from it's place on the board above him. The handle though, and the companion axe, were still firmly attached. The blade had swung down in an arc the perfect height to kill the man and stuck in his head, fixing him in place, upright and reaching for the phone.

"Do you have another?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to her face.

Madeline patted herself down one handed and searched several pockets before emerging triumphant from a pocket she could have sworn didn't exist before. This one had little green army men printed on it, and Madeline couldn't help but laugh as Sherlock eyed it dubiously.

He took it and carefully slid the phone from the dead man's hand.

"Dialling out, why would he use this phone and not the one upstairs or the one in the shop?" He asked himself, looking at Madeline but not expecting an answer.

He bounded up the stairs, spun around, then bounded back down. He grabbed Madeline's arm and towed her back up again. Munchkin sat down near-ish the man, guarding him from a distance and giving Madeline a tortured look.

Madeline vowed to make it up to him with people food for tea.

"Look," Sherlock said, distracting Madeline from her guilt by pointing to the skirting board, "There's a small hole, like the kind you make when you put hooks into walls. And there," He continued, directing her attention to the bannister, "Tiny scratch marks." Sherlock threw up his hands in glee, and Madeline was forced to as well because he had grabbed both of her wrists in his excitement. He shook her a little.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked, his eyes lit up like Madeline had never seen before.

"We've broken into someone's shop, tampered with evidence and haven't called the police like any sane person would've?"

"No, well yes, but-" He grinned wider than is decent in the presence of a rotting corpse, "Serial killer! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! And now they have to believe me, because the evidence is so obvious even Anderson will see!"

Madeline tried unsuccessfully to extract her hands from Sherlock's.

"I don't quite understand Sherlock. A serial killer? Are you on another case? John didn't mention it when he came by to pick up a change of clothes."

Sherlock smirked. "John is moving out. His girlfriend has been pressuring him, but he doesn't want to talk to me about it, so I've been leaving him out of the loop to give him more time to figure out what to say. But technically I'm not on the case yet."

Madeline finally managed to regain control of her hands, just as Sherlock raced down again and tugged up the dead man's trouser leg.

The man's leg was broken and the bone created a bump that made Madeline feel a little sick. Among the discolouration of decomposition and bruising from his apparent fall was a thin line of purple just above his ankle.

"See, there was a tripwire set up at the top of the stairs and Mr.," Sherlock pulled a letter from the mail basket by the phone, "Fitzpatrick fell down. He seriously injured his leg but managed to pull himself up, indicating that he had military training and learned to ignore his pain, his posture backs up military training as well, to ring for help. He dialled three numbers, giving us an area code, before the axe swung down and cracked his skull."

Sherlock traced the phone cord up the wall and behind the axes. "This was set up to pull the axe down if the phone was picked up. Which our killer ensured would happen here, by giving Mr. Fitzpatrick a reason to use this phone."

Madeline was a little perturbed by Sherlock's ease with touching the dead man, and his obvious glee at the idea of a serial killer and asked quietly, "Shouldn't you let your policeman friend know, at least? If this is murder-"

"It is." Interrupted Sherlock, sliding the phone carefully back into Mr. Fitzpatrick's hand.

"Okay then," Madeline continued, "the police should definitely know."

"They'll get everything messed up before I can look at it properly" Sherlock replied, pulling out his phone anyway. He raced back up the stairs and found Lestrade's number at the same time. He dialled and chucked the phone down, Madeline fumbled a little catching it.

"Here, you talk to him while I snoop." He said as he disappeared further into the dead man's flat.

"Shouldn't you wait? At least 'till you're done invading a person's privacy?" She shouted back, waiting for the Detective Inspector to answer his phone.

"No, now is good. Either they'll get here in time to catch me or they won't. It doesn't matter, they need me and they know it."

"Oh good, John, we need Sherlock to come down to Scotland yard." Lestrade must have caught the sound of Sherlock's voice in the background, because he'd started to talk before Madeline could say anything. "We have another murder, and this one is more obvious than the last ones and we think the killer has finally made a mistake. I'm sure you know already, and I'm sure Sherlock has already been investigating. He interrupted our press conference earlier this morn-"

"Umm," Madeline interjected, "This isn't John." She suddenly was very aware of how feminine her voice was.

Sherlock laughed, the sound floating down the stairs.

"Is he mad about the press conference?" He called down, popping his head around the corner.

Madeline covered the mouthpiece. "I'd call it more resigned than angry."

Sherlock actually looked disappointed. "Where does he want us?"

"Scotland Yard," she replied, uncovering the phone, "There's been another murder."

Sherlock went back to snooping, "That doesn't sound right." He mused loudly "The killer has been leaving three day gaps between victims and the last one was only yesterday."

Lestrade heard Sherlock and replied, "Tell him that serial killers do evolve and that he seems to be getting sloppy."

Madeline repeated the message.

"Tell him it's a copycat."

She didn't need to when she heard Lestrade sigh. "Where are you? We need him to come look anyway."

"I don't know." Madeline replied, "But once Sherlock's done, we'll be on our way."

"Wait, one more thing. Who is this?"

Madeline hung up. _Might as well give them something to do while they wait. _She thought with a giggle. No doubt they would have a betting pool set up by the time they got there.

"I'm done!" Sherlock announced as he flew down the stairs and through the store. "Come on dog." He said as he passed Munchkin, who was still waiting like a good boy.

Munchkin looked to Madeline who was desperately trying to catch up. "Yup, come on."

She didn't think about the problem he would cause, until the cabbie Sherlock had flagged refused to let him in the taxi. Sherlock quickly got impatient when the red faced man turned down his bribe and started to yell and Madeline scrambled for a lie before Sherlock ripped into the man's life story.

"He's a service dog!" She blurted out, interrupting the cabbie's description of how retarded they both were.

His face changed instantly to one of pity.

"I'm sorry miss, I didn't realise."

"It's quite all right." She replied haughtily, making sure through her body language that he knew it wasn't okay.

"Munchkin," she said, "Into the car."

He made his laughing face at the cabbie, then jumped in. Sherlock swept his coat around himself then folded gracefully into the seat. He slid along as far as he could, but Munchkin wouldn't get off the seat, and Madeline ended up squished between the door and Sherlock. She didn't mind, He smelt good, like cloves and vanilla.

"He won't move unless you use his name." Madeline reminded him. "I thought we'd made a break through with this. Munchkin. His name is Munchkin."

Sherlock glared. "You tell him to move then."

Munchkin and Madeline looked at each other for a moment, Munchkin to see if he had to move and Madeline judging if she should bother.

"No, you can do it." She smirked, there was no way he'd say it again, Munchkin was safe in his seat and knew it. He settled down and spread himself out further, pushing with his feet so Sherlock had to move closer to Madeline.

"Service dog? He doesn't even have one of those coats." He said, seemingly comfortable with their close proximity.

Madeline frowned. "Well that lie will have to do. We can see about getting him one another time, but I don't want him to be left behind, he's the only one who knows me."

Sherlock appeared to think on this for a time, fingers tented and eyes closed. They'd just gotten out of the taxi and Sherlock had paid the driver, plus a generous tip 'for his understanding', when Sherlock announced that the dog would have to go to the vet.

Munchkin's ears folded back and he looked so miserable that Madeline had to take his lead off and give him a cuddle before he would wag his tail.

"Why does he need to go to the v-e-t?" She asked, rubbing his ears and playing with his face so he looked like he was smiling.

"Because if he has a chip that's registered to your name, we can get your information and you can go home. And really? Like he knows what we're talking about and spelling vet instead of saying it will do anything."

Madeline gasped and covered Munchkin's ears. "Don't say it!" She hissed. "Look at what you've done!" Munchkin's tail was back between his legs and he buried his head into Madeline's coat.

Before Sherlock could reply with something insulting, Lestrade rushed from the police building and ushered them inside, taking a good long look at Madeline. Sherlock strode ahead with him muttering what sounded suspiciously like 'sentiment', leaving Madeline to think about going home.

_If I go, and still don't remember who I am, I'm going to have to meet a bunch of new people that will know me and I won't know them __**or**__ me__**. **__And John is moving out, how will he cope without anyone but Mrs. Hudson to look after him. _Madeline hadn't expected to get attached to the aggravating man, but she had and was regretting it. _Does he want me gone though? Maybe I was just entertainment until his next __**real **__case._

"Excuse me, but you aren't allowed animals in here." A woman's voice interrupted her thought pattern.

Madeline realised her feet had taken her on the path that Sherlock had taken and was now standing in the middle of a room filled with staring cops.

"He's a service dog." Sherlock said, parting the sea of uniforms like he was Moses. The woman, who she now recognised as Sergeant Donovan, smirked and asked scathingly, "Is this your new plaything since John is sick of you, Freak?"

Sherlock ignored her and turned to Lestrade, who had followed him. "This is Madeline, for now. No doubt you recognise her as the Jane Doe you found a week ago?"

Lestrade extended his hand to her, "Sorry for my manners before, I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

Madeline ignored his hand, "I know, we spoke on the phone, and we've met before. I trust there won't be a problem with Munchkin staying with me?"

A whisper went through the crowd and Anderson fought his way to the front. "There is a problem." he said, waving his arm in the air. Madeline remembered Munchkin's disagreement with the man and smirked.

"That mutt is a savage and should be muzzled and locked up outside. I won't work if it stays, it's a safety hazard."

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something, but Madeline cut him off. "Munchkin is perfectly behaved as long as stupid people don't go near him. He has a real problem with stupid people."

She looked at Anderson and raised her eyebrow, "If you choose not to work with us, I don't see why there would be any issues."

Sherlock laughed. He couldn't help it. Anderson was at a complete loss for words, it was a first.

A giggle shivered through the crowd, and people went back to work, still keeping an eye on Madeline.

"So," Madeline asked Lestrade, "Will there be a problem?"

The DI just shook his head. He didn't want the headaches that would come from arguing with Sherlock about the matter.

"Good decision." Sherlock said to him, and then to Madeline, "Come look at these crime scene pictures."

She followed him past all the still staring police officers to a whiteboard covered with pictures. She studied each one carefully, while Sherlock waited, surprisingly patient, for her to finish.

"Well?" he asked when she signalled she was done.

Madeline thought.

"They aren't the same person." she announced confidently.

"What would she know?" Anderson asked rudely.

Munchkin spun around and snarled viciously, his hackles raised and teeth bare. He looked, for the first time Madeline had seen, truly scary.

"What did I say about stupid people?" She asked in her own scary voice, the one she had used on Munchkin's assailant almost a week ago.

Sherlock took a moment to appreciate the effect it had on Anderson before stepping in.

"It just so happens that Madeline knows more than you about these things, not that it's hard, and I'd leave before her dog attacks you again."

"Munchkin." Madeline reminded him again under her breath. She would get him to say it, if he wanted to or not.

"Really is this the time?" He asked, pointing to the dog in question, who looked like he was about to lunge for Anderson's throat any second.

"Any time's a good time." She replied seriously. "His name is Munchkin. We've discussed this several times today and I dislike repeating myself."

She knelt down beside Munchkin and whispered something in his ear. Immediately, he calmed down and sat next to her still looking at Anderson.

"Now would be a good time to leave." Sherlock mentioned casually, as if their little sidebar hadn't occurred.

Anderson stomped off.

"And why don't you think it's the same person, Madeline?" Sherlock asked, going even further back, and Madeline had to blink a few times before she caught up.

She stood, and pointed to the most recent crime scene pictures, "This," She said, pulling a face, "Is messy. Our killer isn't messy, from what we saw this morning. He had everything planned perfectly and he only needed one trap, that we saw."

Sherlock nodded, she was right so far.

"This killer set up four?" Sherlock nodded again. "Three of which were pretty much duds. See the bruising on the body's temple?" she pointed at a close up, "That's not fatal damage. Caused from this bag of golf clubs set up to fall on him when he woke up and opened his closet?"

Another nod. Madeline was pleased, she liked being right she found. "It's just sloppy." She finished with another nose crinkle of distaste. "I could do so much better." She added, sad that these people continued to contribute to the gene pool.

Sherlock was grinning. Incidentally, or not so incidentally if Mycroft was involved further than making sure Sherlock was entertained, Sherlock had found a kindred spirit in Madeline. He'd given up on finding anyone who understood him, let alone anyone who was like him in anyway.

"You're looking for a group of his students, not the smart ones though, most likely the ones who think they're smart but aren't. Take Anderson with you, my experience is that idiots are like birds, they flock together and they won't be able to resist flocking to the biggest idiot I know." Sherlock said to Lestrade as he towed Madeline away again.

"Wait!" Lestrade called after them. "Don't you want to see the crime scene?"

"No point." Sherlock replied as he fast walked away, "Your people have already destroyed anything useful."

Then he stopped abruptly and pulled an envelope from his pocket. Madeline recognised it as Mr. Fitzpatrick's mail.

He towed her back to Lestrade. Madeline was getting quite sick of being dragged around like a child's toy.

Sherlock gave the envelope to Lestrade. "This is where the first victim is. I've already seen all I need, you can send your people in now."

"Gee, thanks." Lestrade said sarcastically as he took the mail. "The first victim? Are you sure?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Madeline rolled her eyes at the size of his ego. And then they were off again before she even had a chance to begin the extraction of her hand from his.

They were outside and Madeline was blinking in the suddenly natural light when Sherlock asked, "So what kind of service does the dog offer?"

Madeline was confused. Sherlock sighed.

"The dog. Service dog. What service?"

"Munchkin," she mumbled absent-mindedly, as she tried to think.

"I have suicidal tendencies and he keeps me away from sharp things, tall buildings and traffic?" was the best she could come up with on short notice.

Sherlock almost laughed, she could tell. "I don't think they give out dogs for that." He said as he hailed a taxi.

"Well I'm not pretending to be blind." She said.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. He thought it would be fun. "People would give things away more readily if you did."

"It would be annoying, and we'd have to get one of those blind people walking sticks."

"I already have one."

The taxi pulled over, and Madeline decided not to ask.

"Epilepsy." she suggested as she slid in.

The cab driver thought she was talking to him and said, "I don't mind, miss. Animals are better behaved than most of my customers."

Munchkin jumped in next to her and Madeline spent a moment being disappointed she wasn't pressed up against Sherlock again, before he got in as well and read it on her face. He said nothing, just smirked and stored the information to ponder over later.

"Where are we going?" the driver asked as he pulled out from the curb.

"221b Baker street." Sherlock answered, closing the door.

The trip was spent mostly in silence, and Madeline found her thoughts drifting back to home, where ever home was.

_What if I wasn't a good person? What if I did horrible things? What if I deserved to die in that alley? How could I go back to that? What if I never remember who I really am? Won't that break the hearts of the people that care about me? What if there is no one who cares about me?_

"Shut up, please." Sherlock commanded. It was voiced as a question for politeness' sake, but it wasn't really.

"I wasn't saying anything." Madeline protested.

"No, but you were thinking. Too loudly by half. Stop it. If you don't like who you are when we find out, don't be that person. It's simple."

Madeline looked around Munchkin's head at him. "That was surprisingly deep, Sherlock."

He held a finger up to his lips, "Don't tell anyone." He said cheekily, "It will ruin my reputation."


End file.
